


Blind Spots: Peripherals

by gwyllgi



Series: Blind Spots [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Substance Abuse Recovery, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllgi/pseuds/gwyllgi
Summary: Short pieces related toBlind Spots, based ona dauntingly large prompt list.





	1. Blindfold

**Author's Note:**

> You really, _really_ need to read [Blind Spots](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4136574) first, or this won't make a lick of sense.
> 
> As with Blind Spots, this isn't intended to be great literature--I'm really just entertaining myself.
> 
> The prompt list is 250 prompts long. I make no guarantees about making it all the way (or even far) through, but I'm going to plug away at it whenever the mood strikes.

Evie exhaled slowly as the blindfold settled over her eyes. As the silk tie—she wasn't going to ask how Bull was able to acquire it so quickly—tightened around her head, she squirmed in her seat and curled her fingers into loose fists in her lap, pressed them against her thighs. "Is this really necessary?"

"Think of it as my present to you," Bull rumbled near her ear as his large fingers smoothed the silk against her hair with surprising gentleness. "You can thank me later for giving your man ideas."

Evie knew she flushed even as she scowled, though there was no heat in it. "We do just fine on our own, thank you," she said primly, then smiled despite herself. "Very well, then. Begin your test."

Scattered laughter met her demand, underscored by the soft music that filled the staff lounge. There was whispered discussion to her left, then the light touch of fingers to her chin, coaxing it up.

"Dorian," she said even before lips touched hers, then laughed. "No one else has such a fine moustache."

The chuckle confirmed her guess, and Dorian's fingers tapped her cheek. "I told them it was too obvious. Point for you."

"Give me a challenge," she said, leaned forward as she grinned. "Come on."

Breath fanned over her cheek, warm and sweet with traces of birthday cake, before lips pressed against hers: soft, plump, the faintest hint of fruity slickness. The kiss was almost chaste, but a hint of humor sparkled through it like champagne bubbles. It lasted only a second, but it was enough.

"Josie," she declared. "You're the only one I know who likes that strawberry gloss."

"She said _a challenge_ ," Dorian said from a few feet away, the drawl in his voice tinged with tipsy sarcasm. "Make her work for it."

Evie tilted her head, mouth open to snark back, only to have it suddenly captured by a rough, deep kiss. Lips almost as soft as Josie's pressed against hers, thick and wide, as a broad tongue expertly plundered her mouth. Despite herself, she leaned into it, twisted her own tongue into the fray. By the time the kiss was broken, she could feel herself sweating under the blindfold as tingles coursed through her belly.

"I can see how you won Dorian over, Bull. Is my hair on fire?"

Bull's large hand patted her head. "It wasn't his _hair_ I set on fire."

"Such a charmer," Dorian grumbled, amidst laughter from the others. "Who's next?"

The next few were easy: the awkward contact that felt like kissing her sister was Cassandra; the kiss that was even more bristly than Dorian's was Thom, the center's chief of security; the kiss that slobbered from her chin to her nose was Woof. There were good-natured grumbles at her successful guesses as she wiped the drool off her face with the damp napkin someone handed her, and murmured consultation she couldn't make out. She tilted her head as she waited for the next challenger, worried her lower lip as she listened to her own breathing, overloud in her ears.

Familiar, full lips caught hers, coaxed her lip from between her teeth with light brushes of contact. She parted her lips to exhale only to instead suck in a breath when she was teased with a gentle nip, promptly soothed by the soft sweep of a warm tongue. She knew she made a noise and hoped it wasn't as pathetic a squeak as it sounded to her, but it didn't matter; the lips against hers continued to explore, accented by the occasional scrape of teeth.

By the time the mystery person's tongue found hers, Evie was all but panting. It was perfect, as though they knew her every button: where she was most sensitive, when she liked it hard, when she wanted gentleness. For a long, heady moment, she was convinced it was Cullen despite his decision to bow out of the game, but the lips against hers lacked the scar that notched his. That someone else could wring so much pleasure out of a single kiss was disconcerting, and Evie finally tore her mouth away and pressed against the back of her chair as she turned her head to a side and struggled to catch her breath.

Silence descended upon the room, only kept from being complete by the music still playing softly across the room. Lost in it, Evie licked her lips, swallowed, and tore off the blindfold; she had to see just who had managed to wind her so tightly.

Pale eyes met hers from barely a foot away, and Evie felt her own widen. "Cole!?" she blurted, then flushed. She'd always thought of him as a naïve, innocent young man, but she'd apparently been doing him a great disservice all that time; there was no way anyone who kissed like that was _innocent_. "I'd never have guessed," she added when she realized that she'd been staring, then laughed nervously and hid behind her hands. " _Maker_."

Cole straightened and finally took a step back, expression guileless. "Does this mean I win?"

"You win _everything_ ," Evie said, muffled by the press of her hands over her face, then repeated, "Maker." She fought the urge to squirm, her clothes suddenly too constricting and the chair suddenly too hard and—Andraste's flaming knickers, she wanted to crawl out of her skin and it was embarrassing and hot and she really needed to think about something else. "Is there punch left?"

Fingers at her wrist tugged a hand from her face and pressed a cup into it. She looked up to find Cullen studying her with an inscrutable expression, broken only when he bent to press a light kiss to her lips. Even that brief, barely-there contact was almost too much against her sensitized skin, and she hastily covered her tenuous hold on control by taking a sip of punch. Someone had spiked it—it tasted like it was more vodka than punch—and she closed her eyes with a silent prayer of thanks as she took another sip.

"Finish your punch," Cullen said against her ear, and Evie startled badly enough that she nearly spilled her drink in her lap. His lips skimming her earlobe didn't help matters any, and she turned her head to side-eye him. "I'll make our excuses."

"It won't fool anyone," she grumbled into her cup, but she didn't have it in her to resist, not when heat still coiled in her belly, aching and insistent. When Cullen began to move away, she caught his hand and dragged it to her lips. "Hurry," she murmured against his fingertips, then released him and took another sip of punch, unable to resist a self-satisfied smile at his sharp inhale and hesitation before he left her side.

It was surprisingly easy to slip from the lounge without anyone stopping her, and Evie suspected that was deliberate. Mortifying as it was to think that everyone knew exactly why she was leaving, she was relieved at the polite fiction of unnoticed escape; she didn't know if she had it in her to linger, half-attending to conversations as she thought of ways to subtly extract herself. As it was, she barely remembered to drop the cup she'd emptied into the trash on her way out, distracted by more... prurient thoughts.

She hurried to her room and let herself in, and stripped off her shirt before the door had even finished closing. It landed somewhere near the hamper, which would just have to be good enough. Her skirt joined it a moment later, followed by her undergarments. The cool air against her heated skin was a relief and she took a moment to simply breathe, to focus on the rush of air in and out of her lungs.

A knock came at the door and Evie crossed to open it, unconcerned with who was on the other side; on the off chance it wasn't Cullen, her visitor would just have to deal with her naked self. Still, it was a relief to see Cullen standing there, a wicked smile on his face and a scrap of ivory-colored silk dangling from his fingers—a scrap she realized after a moment was the discarded blindfold.

"I thought we could get some more use out of this," he all but purred.

"I'm sure we can think of something," she agreed, then fisted her hand in his shirt and pulled him into the room, his laughter cut off as the door shut behind him.


	2. Under the Sheets

The kisses were addictive, the sex was mind-blowing, but Cullen decided that if there were one thing he would never give up, it was lazy mornings in bed with Evie.

Wrapped in a cocoon of sheets, it was easy to lose himself in warm skin. He smoothed his palm over the curve of Evie's hip, dipped a finger into the well of her navel, nuzzled his nose against the nape of her neck and inhaled the soft floral scent of her shampoo. Still mostly asleep, she'd occasionally move under his hands like a cat insistent upon more petting, stretch under his touch or shift to guide his fingers to just the right spot, but for the most part Cullen was able to simply indulge as he wished.

"Move in with me," he murmured into her hair, then frowned slightly at his plaintive tone. "Move in with me?" he said again, then, "Move in with me." He sounded foolish—too hesitant, too unsure, too pleading—and he mentally kicked himself; it was turning into his marriage proposal all over again, a memory that still made him wince, despite Evie's graciousness in declining. "Move in with me," he tried once more with a hint of seductive purr, then sighed. Maker's balls, it shouldn't be so hard to ask his girlfriend to cohabitate when they were in each other's beds more often than not, when they were rarely separated outside of working hours. "Dammit."

Evie's giggle sounded entirely too lucid and Cullen sighed again as he pressed his forehead to the back of her shoulder. "You heard that, didn't you."

"All of it," Evie admitted, then snuggled into his embrace and tugged his arm tightly around her waist. "There's a shared suite open. I asked Solona about it last week and she said no one else had applied for it, so it was ours if we wanted it, anytime."

Cullen blinked, then kissed the side of her neck. "You talked to Solona." A trail of nips led to the point of her jaw, terminated with another tender kiss. "About us." He nuzzled behind her ear and exhaled slowly to warm the skin there, perversely pleased when it sent a shiver down her spine. "Living together."

"I did." Evie's voice was velvet, low and smooth, and it wrapped around him like a plush blanket, warmed him from the inside out. "We don't have to, if you don't—"

She cut off abruptly when Cullen rolled her onto her back, pinned her beneath him, and caught her mouth with a desperate kiss. "I want to," he murmured against her lips, then slid his hands into her hair and kissed her again. She whimpered into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his back, gripped his shoulders tightly as though she were afraid he was going to slip away—something Cullen had no intention of ever doing.


	3. Chains

"Here, Evie. I want you to have this."

Evie set down her cup of tea and took the box Cora held out to her. The size of her palm, hinged, and covered with leather, she knew it was a jewelry box even before she saw the jeweler's stamp on the lid, and she frowned in bemusement. "What is it?"

"It was my grandmother's—Cullen's great-grandmother's. I was saving it for him to give to someone special, but, well... men are awkward, aren't they?" Cora smiled and patted Evie's arm. "I believe you're meant to have it."

Evie lowered her eyes to the box, told herself that the sting in them was nothing more than a stray bit of dust, inhaled, and flipped open the lid. Inside the box, nestled on a bed of white satin lay a silver chain, from which hung a delicate pendant: a spiral of emeralds, graduating from tiny at the origin to what looked to be almost a half carat at the terminus. She very nearly dropped the box, caught it at the last moment and carefully closed the lid again. "I can't possibly accept this," she insisted. "It's too much, Cora. You should keep this in the family."

Cora pushed Evie's hands away when Evie tried to return the box, her smile not wavering in the slightest. "You _are_ family, dear. I'd rather see it in your hands than mouldering in a drawer; I know you'll take good care of it."

There was no denying the sting was tears this time; Evie felt one slip down her cheek and struck it hastily away with the back of her wrist. "It's too much," she said again, though she gave up trying to push it back into Cora's hands. She started to put it on the table, but somehow found herself cradling the box to her chest instead, her chin tucked over it as another tear escaped. "Do you know what the stones alone are worth?"

Cora laughed and scooted her chair over to wrap an arm around Evie's shoulders. "What does that matter? I'd never sell it anyway. I'd much rather it go to a good home where I know it will be appreciated."

Evie sniffled and hugged the box tighter. The pendant paled in comparison to some of the jewelry that awaited her in her inheritance. The Trevelyans could trace their line back to the founding of Ostwick, even farther in Tevinter, and had held a title for much of that history. Over the ages, they'd accumulated a collection of jewels and valuables that rivaled even those of the royal houses, some of which could pay her salary from the center for a decade or more. But none of them struck her as strongly as the spiral of emeralds dangling from the simple silver chain and, despite her hesitation to accept it, the thought of giving it up was terrible.

"Thank you," she said—or attempted to say, though it came out more as a dry croak than intelligible words. She tried again but couldn't force the words past the tightness in her throat, a tightness that stung nearly as badly as her eyes, and one tear became two, became a stream, became a flood, until she was sobbing uncontrollably as Cora rubbed her back.

It took a while, but eventually Evie calmed enough to be able to wipe her eyes and blow her nose, to exhale shakily but without bone-wrenching sobs. She smiled tremulously as Cora pulled away with one last pat to her back and forced her fingers to loosen from their death grip on the box. "Thank you," she said, relieved when the words came out properly, despite the thickness that lingered as an after-effect of tears. "I'll treasure it."

"Why don't you put it on?" Cora squeezed her arm around Evie's shoulders again, then took the box from Evie's unresisting hands and retrieved the necklace from within it. She tucked Evie's hair over her shoulder and slid the chain around her neck to clasp at the back, then straightened Evie's hair and circled her to lightly brush her fingers against the pendant tucked between Evie's clavicles. "It's beautiful. I knew it would suit you."

Evie swallowed and replaced Cora's fingers with her own to trace the line of the spiral. "Thank you," she said again, then impulsively hugged Cora, who didn't hesitate to return the embrace. "I don't know what to say."

Cora squeezed her tightly. "You don't need to say anything, Evie. It's where it belongs."

"I feel as though I've missed something," Cullen said from behind Evie. "Should I come back later?"

Evie spun from Cora's arms to wrap her own around Cullen instead, tucked her face against his throat and breathed deeply. "No, don't go." His hands rubbed her back in much the same way his mother's had, yet the comfort they provided was uniquely Cullen. "Can we just stay like this?"

Cullen's cheek rubbed over her hair as he murmured, "OK." His back was solid under Evie's hands as she clung to him, his breathing steady and even, and Evie slowly felt herself relax, the tension banding her chest ease. Over her head, she was vaguely aware of Cullen speaking with his mother, of Cora's receding footsteps, of the click as the back door shut behind her, but they didn't matter. All that mattered was the man in her arms, his warmth as comforting as the weight of the necklace at her throat.


	4. Shivers Down His Spine

"Will you let me?"

Cullen, startled, looked at Evie, who perched on the bathroom counter and idly swung one foot in a contrapuntal rhythm to the stroke of his razor over its strop. It wasn't that he'd forgotten she was there—as if that would be possible, the first morning in their shared apartment—but rather than he'd dropped so easily into the usual meditative state of his morning shave that even the silk of her soft voice had jarred him. He realized that his mouth was hanging open slightly and snapped it shut, could feel a flush rising over his cheeks. "Do you want to?"

Evie smiled, that slow, sweet smile that pooled warmth in his gut, and rubbed her thumb over his stubbled chin. "What if I say yes?" Her smile sharpened, impishness peeking from the curl of its corners, then repeated, "Will you let me?"

"Yes," Cullen said, to the surprise of both of them, to judge by the widening of Evie's eyes. "That is... have you ever used a straight razor before?" When Evie nodded, he frowned, even as he told himself that it was stupid to be jealous of a faceless, nameless man who'd had Evie's touch against his skin. "When was that?"

His deliberate nonchalance sounded forced even to his own ears, but Evie graciously let it pass without comment, simply smiled again. "My grandfather used a straight razor. When he'd visit, I'd always want to watch him shave. He taught me how to shave him instead—maybe he just got tired of me staring at him, but that was the most time we ever spent together and I treasured it." She sobered, dropped her eyes to the strop so that her lashes cast crescent shadows over her cheeks. "He died a few months before I was sent off to school, so it's been a while, but I still remember how."

Cullen finished stropping the razor in silence as he considered. Evie spoke so rarely of her family, even more rarely fondly, that he felt like he'd been given a precious gem, one that he could smash on the floor so easily with one wrong move. "All right," he said, carefully, as he flicked the razor closed and offered it to her. "My lady."

Evie leaned forward as she took the razor, found his mouth for a hard kiss that was over too quickly. She slid from the counter in a graceful descent, her body pressed against his barely long enough for him to feel the heat of it through her nightie against his bare chest. Before he could claim another kiss, she'd twisted away, set the razor on the counter and turned on the water to soak his towel.

"Sit down," she said—soft, implacable—and Cullen found himself perched on the lid of the toilet seat as she wrung out the towel and wrapped it around his face. She rested her palm against the hot cloth as she bent, her breath somehow even hotter as it fanned over his ear, and murmured, "Do you trust me?"

Cullen closed his eyes as shivers jolted down his spine, but managed a weak nod. When she simply patted his cheek and pulled away, he opened them again to find her lathering the shaving soap in its mug. The flick of her wrist, the sound of the brush bristles over the soap cake were hypnotic, and he found his eyelids listing until he watched her through his lashes, a strange soft focus that just added to the surrealism.

Her lips found his again as she unwound the towel, a kiss that lingered longer but was still over too quickly. He touched the tip of his tongue to the center of his lower lip, swallowed thickly as she pulled the brush from the mug and began to swirl lather over his cheeks. It was disconcerting, the familiar sensation at another's hands, and he stared at her, watched her eyes as she watched the brush lather his face, dip under his chin, tease at his throat. He swallowed thickly then, but either she didn't notice or didn't care, as she instead simply set the brush down and reached for the straight razor.

He'd expected her to begin immediately, but instead she stared at him, her expression one he couldn't identify. "Evie," he began, cut off when she pressed the razor guard against his lips.

"Shh." It was barely a breath of sound, but it was enough to keep him silent when she pulled the razor away and moved closer to him.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't for her to straddle his lap, her pale, bare thighs a sharp contrast to the deep grey of his sleep pants. The edge of the guard under his chin made him realize he'd dropped it to take in the aesthetics of her position, and he raised it again to find her smile turned on him, a little playful, a lot heated.

"Hold still," she said, and slid the razor open. He swallowed again, but it wasn't nerves that were constricting his throat.

Her fingers were still warm from the towel when she slid them next to his eye and pulled his cheek taut. The first slide of the razor over his skin was a revelation, an intimacy that he hadn't expected to hit him so hard, and he wrapped his hands around her thighs simply for something to hold on to. The contact made her pause, but when he made no other move, she continued, stroked the razor down the side of his face until it was clear. Each time her off hand moved to tauten another part of his skin, he could feel his eyelashes flutter with the urge to close his eyes, but he didn't want to lose the sight of her focused expression as she watched the razor strip the hair away.

She was so careful it nearly hurt, and knots twisted in his belly, tightened with every stroke. He exhaled heavily when she moved to the other side of his face, repeated the process with confident strokes, inhaled when she paused and stroked her finger along his freshly-shaven jaw.

"Do you trust me?" she asked again, and for a moment Cullen didn't grasp her meaning. It was only when her fingers touched under his chin, slick with lather, to tip it up that he understood.

"I do," he said, soft and hoarse. He could _see_ her process it as her pupils dilated and she shifted in his lap, her skin furnace-hot even through his pants.

Though he'd anticipated a kiss, she simply said, "Good." A moment later, the razor was stroked over his him again, skimmed the thin skin of his throat, and it was only at the last moment that he remembered that swallowing was not the best idea.

It was a relief and a disappointment when she rose from his lap and set the razor aside. He closed his eyes as she wiped the last lingering traces of lather from his face, waited for the splash of aftershave, only to snap his eyes open again when instead came the sound of his brush whipping up a fresh lather.

"Again?" he asked, and mentally winced at the relatively high pitch of the question.

Evie only smiled and swirled the brush over his cheeks again, finished with a dot of lather on the tip of his nose. "If you're going to use a straight razor, you might as well go whole hog, right?" She set the brush aside, then tangled her fingers in his hair and dragged him down to press a kiss to his forehead before she wiped the smear of white off his nose. "Now hold still."

Cullen obeyed—he had no choice, really, not when Evie straddled his lap again and began to work the razor across his face—but it was a testament to his willpower that he made it through, and when she had finished and wiped the lather from his face the second time, he exhaled heavily. She was too close, too warm, too... everything, and it was increasingly difficult to ignore the shivers that raced down his spine each time her fingers pulled his skin taut, each time the blade kissed his skin.

He closed his eyes again, tipped his head back as he focused on his breathing in an attempt to distract himself from the heat that pooled in the pit of his belly, tingled through his limbs. He sucked in a sharp inhale when her lips traced the column of his exposed throat, grabbed blindly for her only to find her already out of reach. It wasn't until the sound of the brush lathering the shaving soap in its cup began again that he realized her intent, and he dropped his chin to look at her in incredulity.

"Again?" he repeated, and she laughed this time, set the cup down to slide into his lap, the brush still held in her other hand.

"One last time." She rubbed her cheek against his, breathed over his ear. "Don't you want to be as smooth as possible?" She turned her head so her lips traced the line of his cheekbone, followed it to his nose, then dropped to the corner of his mouth. "Smooth as a baby's bottom, isn't that what they say? I wonder how that would feel between my thighs."

Cullen wasn't sure if he actually made a sound or if it was just his brain snapping, but he could no more resist twisting to catch her mouth with his than he could breathing. She opened to him, familiar but still somehow new, and it was perfect because it was her and she was his and he still didn't understand how he'd gotten so lucky.

Evie wound an arm around his neck, pulled him closer as she shuffled further into his lap, until her legs spread around his hips, her nightie doing little to shield his chest from the press of her breasts, nipples already tight against him. One kiss bled into two, into three, and he fisted his hands into the fabric at her hips, tried to wriggle it free and draw it up so he could get at more skin, only to be stymied when Evie pulled away, scooted back until she was barely perched on his knees, and pressed her hand against his chest.

"We're not done yet," she said, her voice heated velvet, but her gaze resolute. "I don't like to leave jobs half-done." She smiled then, a slow curl of kiss-swollen lips that went straight to his cock, which already throbbed, heavy and stiff, within the loose confines of his sleep pants.

She seemed to be waiting for something, so Cullen swallowed thickly and managed to grind out, "OK," then closed his eyes as she again lathered his face. He didn't know if it was better or worse, being unable to see her focused expression; he suspected that either option would be agony. He focused on the rasp of his breathing, the throb of his pulse, the fire that each brush of her fingers left in its wake, until he heard the razor set down with a click on the counter, felt the soft terrycloth of the towel slowly wipe away the last of the lather, smelled the bay rum-scented aftershave he preferred before she splashed it over his skin.

He didn't realize what he was going to do until he was already in motion; he hooked his hands under the tops of her thighs and hefted her as he stood, opened his eyes to see her surprised expression as she reflexively wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and clung to him as he hustled into the bedroom and tipped her onto the bed.

She landed, limbs askew and mouth shaped into a small 'o' and hair tousled around her head like a halo. This time, when Cullen reached for the hem of her nightie, she didn't resist, simply lifted her hips to allow him to work it up. He abandoned it at her waist and found her with his fingers, slid them through slick folds to flick over the nub of her clit. She whimpered, arched, and parted her thighs further as her fingers curled in the blanket, drew it into peaks and valleys as she twisted and tensed.

Cullen had to admit that she'd been right to insist upon the complete shave when he rubbed his cheek up the inside of her thigh; without the barrier of even the slightest stubble, her skin felt even softer against his, silken and flawlessly smooth. He imagined he could even feel her tremors more clearly and reveled in it, rubbed between her thighs like a large cat as he worked his way to their juncture and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

In the end, he wasn't late to his first appointment, but it was a near thing, and every time he touched his cheek, tapped it in thought, he was reminded again of her skin against it—her fingers, her inner thighs, her own soft cheek. The third time he had to wrench his thoughts away from memories of that morning, he forced himself to keep his hands in his lap, wrestled his attention back to the task at hand. His patients needed him now. Evie would still be there when he was done, though hopefully without a straight razor; he wasn't certain his heart could take another shave so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame [sorrowful cheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese) entirely for this. Enabler!


	5. Best Kept Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're coming in from tumblr, thank you! This total AU won't make any sense without context, but fluff is fluff. Context can be found in the first part of the series, if you're feeling ambitious.

When Cora had linked her arm through Evie’s as soon as they’d walked into the house and whisked her away, Cullen had nearly followed despite her admonishment to give them some “girl time”; the expression on his mother’s face never boded well for him. In the end, however, he’d swallowed his trepidation and returned outside to help Branson with some repairs, and only occasionally glanced at the house.

Branson was quieter than he had been in his younger years but bits of his gregarious self were re-emerging, and they chatted with only occasional awkwardness as they fixed the wall of the chicken coop that had been damaged during a recent storm. Four hands made quick work of it, and as they put the tools away Cullen casually suggested they head inside for a drink before tackling the next task. When Branson shot him an amused look, Cullen dropped the nonchalance and ran a hand through his hair, looked again at the house, and muttered, “Mom is telling her every embarrassing story about me she knows, isn’t she?”

“Probably.” A smile played around the corners of Branson’s mouth. “Why else would she ask me to keep you busy?”

Cullen groaned, then squared his shoulders. “I’m going in—if I’m going to be humiliated, I might as well know by what.”

Branson chuckled—weak but welcome—and saluted as he saw Cullen off.

The house was quiet but for the occasional soft murmur of voices, and Cullen followed it to the family room. He was very nearly there when he heard Evie laugh delightedly and exclaim, “Oh, Maker, just look at him!”

Panic hurried his feet, and he burst into the room to find Evie and Cora on the overstuffed couch, a photo album perched on Evie’s knees and more of the same piled at her hip. She was still laughing when she looked up, and it hit Cullen straight in the chest as he realized again how beautiful she was with her face bright with happiness. He barely heard his mother’s chiding utterance of his name, too caught in Evie’s gravitational pull to do anything but cross the room, move the pile of albums to the floor, and sit next to her. Her thigh was a warm brand against his as he fought the urge to catch her chin and turn her to face him, to kiss the laughter from her smiling lips.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, grateful that his voice didn’t sound as tight as his throat felt. He glanced down at the open album, then winced when his eyes lit on the photo dominating the page. “Maker’s balls, Mom—how did you get this?”

“Language,” Cora said mildly, then smiled beatifically. “That nice girl you were dating sent it to me. What was her name? Mary?”

“Merrill,” Cullen corrected weakly, "and she was just a friend. I didn't realize you were that well-acquainted."

"She still writes to me, now and then." Cora patted his shoulder and pressed a fond kiss to his temple. "I'll start supper. No, dear," she added when Evie started to get up, and gestured her back to the couch. "You can help me next time. The two of you look through the albums some more."

Evie turned a smile on Cullen as Cora left, all sharp, playful edges and sparkling eyes. "Are there more like this?"

Cullen twirled a lock of hair from Evie's ponytail around his finger, brushed the ends of it lightly over her cheek. "Maker willing, no. I didn't even know she took that picture."

"Merrill, hmm?" The corners of Evie's mouth lifted a fraction more and trembled with poorly-suppressed laughter. "You've never mentioned her before."

Cullen collapsed against her side like a fallen soufflé, tucked his face against her neck and sighed. "She was a friend from college on the social work track, went into Elvhen rights advocacy after graduation. Sweet girl." He nuzzled into her throat, inhaling the light scent of tulips from her perfume. "Haven't seen her in a while, not since I've been back here."

Evie tilted her head to rub her cheek against his hair as one hand found his and wove their fingers together. "You should call her." She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, squirmed a little closer and exhaled. "Maybe see if she has any more pictures of baby hipster Cullen."

"No," Cullen groaned, and pressed closer still to Evie. "One is enough." A giggle vibrated against him and he chased it with his lips, brushed them up the column of her throat until he reached her chin. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Never," Evie cheerfully agreed. She dipped her chin to meet his lips with her own, a light buss that was still enough to tear the breath from his lungs. He caught her as she withdrew, his hand tight on her shoulder as he dragged her back for a proper kiss. The thud as the album slid from Evie's lap to the floor barely registered as she kept moving until she could loop her arms over his shoulders, fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head. The kiss lengthened, turned into two, into three. Only when his hand began to creep up her thigh under her skirt did they break apart. Their breaths mingled in the small space left between them, heated and sharp, and only through a supreme effort of will did Cullen lean back when Evie's eyes dropped to his mouth and the tip of her tongue flicked over her lower lip.

"Supper will be ready soon," he said lamely, grateful when she nodded and grudgingly released him. She smoothed back the hair that had escaped her ponytail, then smiled and ran her fingers through his hair, tousled by her earlier grip.

"You know, Cullen, your hipster phase was adorable, but this is the you that I fell in love with." She pressed a kiss against his cheek, then bent to retrieve the photo album from the floor and opened it across her thighs once more. "It's part of who you are, but you're so much more than that." She slanted a smile at him, shifted closer to bump her hip against his. "Ask nicely and some day I'll share photos of my emo phase."

Cullen chuckled and slung his arm around Evie's shoulders, cuddled her closer still. "Something to look forward to," he said with a smile, then reached down and turned the album page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! This one is [sorrowfulcheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese)'s fault, too. I don't even remember how the conversation started, but it spun out into the framework for the picture, which in turn demanded that fic be written for it. And so there was fic.
> 
> Art is courtesy of [bexorz](https://bexorz.tumblr.com/), who is always delightful to work with, reposted with permission. [Commission info here.](https://bexorz.tumblr.com/commissions/) You can also [check out the full image](http://blackdogpodfic.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/BSP_51_Photo.jpg)!
> 
> Finally, Party Cannon is a real band! Look them up if you're up for some brutal death metal. (Seriously. Brutal. Death. Metal.)


	6. Threesome

Fall crisped the air, leaving Evie grateful for the coat that Cora had pressed upon her when she'd announced her intention to go for a walk. It was early yet, the sun having barely crested the horizon, and the world was still but for the occasional birdsong and the sound of Woof's and her footsteps. Even he was subdued, seemingly content to pace at her side instead of ranging afield as was his wont, and she buried her fingers in his ruff, grateful for the warmth and company.

"It's been a while, boy, hasn't it? Just you and me?"

Woof looked up at her and let his tongue loll, wiggled his back end in apparent agreement before he pressed against her, close enough that her thigh ruffled his fur with every step. She scratched his shoulders fondly as they walked—ambled, really, with no destination in mind. Paths unfurled and they followed them, wound through fields and copses, just a woman and her mabari.

By the time they stumbled upon the pier, the sun had fully appeared, and Evie shaded her eyes against it as they stepped onto the wood planks and approached the pier's end. The sun glinted off the water like flakes of gold, shifting as it lapped against the bank. She crouched at the end, trailed her fingertips through the water and shivered at the biting chill. "No swimming today," she said, and behind her Woof barked his agreement. She turned with a laugh, knelt on the damp wood and patted her thighs. He didn't hesitate to crawl into her lap—as much as a mabari could fit into anyone's lap—and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his fur.

He smelled of outdoors and dog, soothing in its familiarity, and she closed her eyes as his tongue slobbered over her neck. Growing up, she'd never have believed it if someone had told her that some day she'd happy like this; even when she'd rebelled against her parents' expectations, she'd had no concept of what possibilities life could offer, that she didn't have to bind herself to the world of salons and paper smiles that did little to conceal fangs. The family she'd found, the family she'd built herself, was more than she could have ever expected, and it was perfect.

Woof licked her neck again, then barked and wiggled away to bound along the pier with a scrape of claws. It hadn't been a warning bark, so she didn't bother opening her eyes, instead turned her face to the sun, imagined she could feel its warmth despite the wind that chilled her cheeks. She listened to her own breath, the rippling water, the soft tread that approached to stop next to her. She leaned in as a warm body settled against her side, cuddled under the arm that wrapped around her shoulders. She only opened her eyes again when Woof attempted to wiggle back into her lap, and then only to give him a chiding look. He whimpered, ears drooped in a way that was patently crocodile tears, and squirmed closer inch by inch, until he was draped over Cullen's lap with his broad head across Evie's thighs.

"Don't worry, you're still her favorite."

Evie glanced at Cullen as he patted Woof's side, and rocked her shoulder against his. "It's not a competition. Can't I love both of my boys?"

Cullen pressed a kiss to her temple, nuzzled the hair above her ear. "Is that what we are? Your boys?"

"Of course." Evie scratched behind Woof's ear, stopped only when Woof's hind leg began thumping the wood. "Mine." She'd never had that before, and couldn't help but repeat, "Mine."

"Evie," Cullen began, only to trail off. A ragged exhale punctuated the silence, and Evie turned a concerned look on him, lips parted to ask him what was wrong, only to find a small box in front of her nose. Cullen looked everywhere but at her, even as he slowly opened the box to reveal the ring she'd suspected it would contain. It sparkled in its white satin bed, the weak sunlight caught in its facets and spun into sparkles. "I'm already yours. Will you be mine?"

Evie stared at the ring until its glimmering hurt her eyes, then moved her gaze to Cullen's face. He looked at her at last, his expression carefully neutral, but she knew him well enough now to see the hope and terror that warred beneath the façade. She touched his hand, still aloft with the small box, touched his cheek, curled her fingers around his chin and turned him to face her enough that she could press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering and not enough. She kissed the side of his jaw, the corner of his mouth again, the tip of his nose, the sensitive spot in front of his ear, and it still was not enough. She sought his mouth, but paused with no more than a hairsbreadth between them, shared his breath as she stared into his eyes, caught by his amber gaze. "Yes," she breathed, then slid her hand into his hair and closed the distance between them. His lips were a brand on hers and she made a soft sound as she opened to him. Time stretched as they kissed, without end or meaning, until she pulled away just enough to murmur, "I will."

Cullen's smile, soft and somehow shy, was something she would never forget. It lingered as he pulled the ring from box and caught her hand, as he pressed a kiss to the tip of her third finger before he slid the ring over it. She didn't even pause to admire it before she caught his hand, pulled it to her mouth to nestle a kiss into his palm, then pressed it against her cheek. "Mine," she said again, and suddenly she couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face, so great that she felt she might split in two from the force of it. "We're going to have to elope."

"Elope?"

She laughed, a high, bright sound even to her own ears, giddiness that bubbled from her lips. "Unless you want a large affair. Between our friends and your family, there's not much middle ground." She laughed again at the dumbstruck look on Cullen's face, and snuggled closer to his side even as she used both hands to scratch the sides of Woof's neck. "Either way, we've already got our ringbearer."

Cullen wove his fingers through hers to join in scratching through Woof's fur. "He should be up there with us, wherever it is. He was our serendipity, after all."

Evie leaned in for another brief kiss, then bent enough to be able to blow gently against Woof's ear, smiled when it twitched. "I’ll never forget how you looked the first time I saw you.”

“Facedown and flailing in the grass?” Amusement warmed Cullen’s voice. “I never was much good at first impressions.”

"Nonsense. You were perfectly charming." Evie giggled when Cullen shot her a skeptical look, then eased Woof's head from her lap and got to her feet, reached a hand down to Cullen. "Memorable, at least."

Cullen took her hand, held it as he rose. "I'll take memorable. It got me you."

"So it did," Evie said, and tugged Cullen's hand to rest at her waist. Woof leaned against her leg and she smiled down at him as she wove her fingers through his fur again, caught by the flash of the ring there. "Thank you, Cullen. For being you."

Cullen chuckled and pressed a kiss into her hair. "You're the best part of me," he murmured, so softly it was almost lost in her hair, and then there was only the sound of lapping water, the soft scratch of Woof's fur, the thunder of her pulse. The sun continued its climb overhead and cool breezes pinked their cheeks, but the only thing that mattered was that moment, that perfectly encapsulated moment when it was her and her boys, and all was right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I was feeling so, so sappy, and realized I hadn’t worked the pier in yet.


	7. From Behind

Evie leaned in the doorway of the kitchen and watched the flex of Cullen’s shoulders as he chopped vegetables, the rhythmic clack of the knife against the board a pleasant background noise. If he was aware of her presence, he didn’t acknowledge it, intent upon his task. Evie couldn’t help but smile, certain that the expression was decidedly dopey but unable to care.

"That's looking good,” she said as she pushed away from the doorjamb—much as she’d have loved to surprise him, there were better times than when he had a knife in-hand. She slid her arms around his waist from behind and rested her cheek on the back of his shoulder, smiling again at the feel of it shifting against her. "I’m starving.”

Without comment, Cullen reached over his shoulder to offer her a freshly-cut piece of carrot, which she caught in her teeth and crunched contentedly. She closed her eyes and let herself sag against his warmth, blanketed herself over him and hummed her approval. "You’re a good house husband,” she teased, then turned her head to nuzzle her face against the dip of his spine. "Mmm, I’m going to live here.”

Cullen’s chuckle vibrated through her. "That’ll make it difficult to work.”

"I think we could make do.” Evie grudgingly peeled herself away, stretched to press a kiss to the nape of Cullen’s neck, and hopped up to sit on the counter next to the cutting board. "You look like you could use a break.”

Cullen glanced at her. Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes despite the scolding set of his mouth—amusement that won over at Evie’s toothy grin and dragged a laugh from him. "I thought you were starving.”

"I am.” Evie slid her hand over his and slowly uncurled his fingers from the knife handle until she could draw it away and set it aside. "But I think I'd like to start with dessert."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet. I resisted the smut mightily.


	8. Upside Down

"Are you going to tell me about the ring?"

Startled, Evie lost her form and dropped from the pull-up bar she'd barely started on. Her left thumb automatically angled in to stroke the band she was still getting used to, stuttered when she remembered that she'd taken it off before mounting the bar. "I didn't—"

Cassandra paused in her hanging crunches long enough to frown at Evie, the expression not diminished in the least by the fact that it was presented upside-down. "You're not very subtle," she said, and although she didn't roll her eyes her voice conveyed her exasperation quite clearly.

Evie was certain her face was beet red. She looked at her hands as they twisted in front of her, and cleared her throat. "It felt like it should be a secret," she admitted. "That is, like... like it was something only we knew about, our own little gem." She groaned and scrubbed her hands over her face. "Andraste's knickers, it sounds so silly when I actually say it out loud."

"You know there is no such thing as a secret here." Cassandra sighed and resumed her crunches, the controlled motion doing things to her abs that Evie would have to have been dead not to appreciate; the woman had some serious musculature that deserved appreciation. "They gossip worse than fishwives."

Evie pressed her lips together and grabbed her bar, but only managed two pull-ups before she laughed and dropped again. " _They_?" She abandoned the bar, and stood in front of Cassandra, just far enough away that their heads didn't collide when Cassandra released the crunch. "You know you were in the thick of it, you sap."

" _Sap_?" Cassandra's eyes widened, lips parted in seeming offense. "I would never— I didn't—" She reached up and grasped the bar, unhooked her feet and let them drop. Back on the floor, she leaned into Evie's face, eyes gone from wide to narrowed. "You are _teasing_ me."

"Guilty." Evie giggled and patted Cassandra's arm. "But I still know you didn't stay out of it. You're too much of a romantic."

Cassandra huffed, then folded her arms over her chest and pinned Evie with a hard look. "Fine. I _might_ have speculated on the progression of your relationship." The look eased, replaced by something like concern. "It's just that it— seemed _time_ , and I— you should be happy."

Evie didn't hesitate, just wrapped her arms around Cassandra and drew her stiff body into an embrace. "I love you, too, Cass."

"Don't call me that," Cassandra said, expression stern despite the lack of heat in her voice and the tentative creep of her arms around Evie to return the hug. "You realize that if he hurts you, no-one will find the body."

Evie squeezed her tightly. "He won't hurt me." She smiled, then tightened the embrace again. "Besides, he's your friend. Shouldn't you worry about him, too?"

"You would _never_ ," Cassandra insisted, her hands on Evie's shoulders to push her away enough to meet Cassandra's eyes. After a moment, her tight frown curved ever-so slightly upward. "You're teasing me again."

"I would never," Evie solemnly said, then leaned in to kiss Cassandra's cheek. "I appreciate you worrying about me, though."

Cassandra blinked slowly; her flat expression spoke as many volumes as a dramatic eyeroll. "Someone has to," she said simply, then spun Evie around and pushed her back toward her abandoned bar. "Now, don't think I didn't see that terrible form. I want another full set done properly."

Evie groaned, but couldn't help her smile. Cassandra's brand of showing affection might just kill her, but at least she'd die knowing she had the best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I joined a Habitica challenge to write a little every day. Mostly it's half-written prompts that need to be scrapped, but every now and then I end up with something I like.
> 
> (Anyone on Habitica? Hit me up! I'm gwyllgi there, too.)


End file.
